


Oh Injury

by FuneralMute (AnnabelLenore)



Series: Concord [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 14:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12773235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnabelLenore/pseuds/FuneralMute
Summary: Freshly formed wounds are not the only things capable of being tender.





	Oh Injury

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic comes from the Rasputina song of the same name from their album _Frustration Plantation_.
> 
> The idea for this fic was requested by tumblr user [wilhuffs](http://wilhuffs.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I decided to give TK-421 the first name Tycho after your friend and mine, the man with the golden nose, Renaissance astronomer Tycho Brahe.

 The governor’s footsteps were much quieter than usual despite his usual boot-clad gait. The sound just barely echoed off antiseptic walls. He sat down gingerly on the very edge of the narrow bed towards the middle. The too white sheets were barely wrinkled around the unconscious form beneath them. Now that the faint sound of his footsteps had ceased, the only sound left was the beep and hum of machinery and quiet, steady breathing. He kept his hands neatly folded on his lap and waited patiently.

The figure on the bed moved slightly, the starchy sheets crinkling faintly. The much younger man’s eyes flickered open a brief second and then quickly shut, his entire face scrunching up, not very pleased with the garish light. Over several moments his face slowly relaxed and he cracked one eye open. Partially adjusted to the light now, he gradually opened both eyes.

It took some time for his gaze to focus, but once the figure before him became recognizable, a weak smile began to spread across his face.

“G’mornin’.” Tycho’s words were quiet and slightly slurred and gurgled up from deep in his throat, nearly getting lost on their way up. The grin on his face, though still lack-luster, turned cheeky. He still existed in the space between wakefulness and sleep which was made even more liminal by the pain killers he had been given.

“You nearly got yourself killed.” Wilhuff’s voice was steel, stern, cold; gaze that was just as icy narrowing. “It was an _idiotic_ move; I read the report.” The look on his face was a mix of displeasure, disappointment, and somewhere not so far off _concern_.

The trooper blanched and blinked a few times before starting mutely, blankly back at the Grand Moff. It was several moments before he replied.

“Ya know, normally when a high ranking official visits your bedside, it’s usually to give you some sort of medal – you’ve just come to tell me I’m stupid.” He shrugged and chuckled lightly, though quickly stopped, wincing at the pain that shot through his ribs and shoulders, features contorting.

“You need to be more mindful of your actions.” His voice was flatter now though still just as stern.

Tycho did not seem quite so jovial now and it was only partially due to the fact that the effectiveness of the pain killers was slowly starting to wear off. His eyes downcast, he took stock of the numerous bandages that wound around his arm, his shoulder, his chest, and the wires and tubes trailing off of him ending at complex medical machinery. He pressed his lips tightly together, the corners turning down as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, looking very much like a child being scolded. Some sort of smart comeback was condensing towards the front of his mind, but it dissipated before it made it any further, perhaps to his betterment.

Reclining so on the bed made him feel small, feeble, so pressing both hands flat against the hard mattress he moved to sit more upright, though the pain that coursed through him even more severely made him feel sick to his stomach. He took in a sharp intake of breath which caused even more pain. Though blood rushed, face turned pale and he groaned.

Tarkin moved forward so that he was now seated closer to the head of the bed and wrapped an arm _gently_ around Tycho’s middle, giving him the support to keep from toppling back and fluffed up the pillows behind him so that he would have something to rest and support his back against. The quiet remark of "Impetuous boy." was muttered in the process.

Now that he was settled in a more pleasing position, Wilhuff removed his arm from around the trooper and took the younger’s chin firmly in his grasp, forcing him to look up and directly into crystal cold blue eyes which regarded him with minute scrutiny. Skeletal fingers caressed the other’s cheek, causing Tycho to wince as he passed over a large bruise and neighboring superficial wound, though the young man now knew better than to try to wriggle away.

The governor _tisked_ and shook his head. “A waste. And to mar such a lovely face.”

Tycho’s face was not so pale anymore. He was smiling again. “I swear if this doesn’t heal right…” He had to suppress another chuckle.

Wilhuff slowly turned Tycho’s head to one side and then the other, gaze intent. “At another glance…” He added after a moment of contemplation. “If it does scar, in the position that its in, I think it could be very becoming on you.” A small smirk curved onto his lips.

“I think you’re just tryin’ to make me feel better about myself.” The trooper scoffed.

“You know that I am not apt to indulge in such things.” Tarkin was quick to retort, though that smirk was turning into a smile. “Regardless, you are still stunning either way.”

Moving even closer, Wilhuff placed a soft, lingering kiss on Tycho’s lips which the other returned, bandaged arm reaching out to grasp the other’s uniformed one, his pain ignored in the tender moment.

Breaking the kiss, he placed a hand gingerly on the other’s chest, mindful of the damage underneath the thin layer of fabric and layers of bandages, and lightly pushed him back onto the pillows.

“You need to rest. The less time you have to stay idle the better.” There was a glimmer in his eyes that Tycho knew very, very well.

“Is this an order, or…?” There was a glimmer in the trooper’s eyes as well which was best interpreted as _mischief._

“It’s an order, _TK-421_.” After standing up from the bed, Wilhuff placed a kiss on the other’s forehead and pulled the sheet more tightly about him. Before turning to leave he added one more comment in parting. “Rest.” The monosyllable lacked his usual clipped, sharped succinctness, but rather lingered with tangible sweetness.


End file.
